What Doesn't Hurt
by Mrpointyhorns
Summary: Jack has strict rules in his house and Troy gets punished if he disobeys. Troy/Ryan hopefully.
1. Chapter 1

Title: What Doesn't Hurt

Author: Mrpointyhorns aka Blemery

Status: WIP

Part: 1/7

Pairings: Troy/Ryan (hopefully)

Warnings: Child Abuse, Slash, Second Person

Spoilers: None.

Summary: Jack has strict rules in his house and Troy gets punished if he disobeys.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Disney. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

First Rule.

If you don't want to get punished then you shouldn't break the rules. That's what you learn when you live under his roof. You've lived under his rules for fifteen years. You know them all, but not every rule is easy to obey. Like one rule, you can't be home late, even if you call and tell your mom that you're going to be home late you will still be licked. For every minute you're late, you get one lick. Even if you have a ride with Chad's Mom and she has to drop off six other kids, if you're late, you get licked. You always try to stop whatever you're doing in order to get home on time, but it doesn't always work.

It makes it harder now that you're fifteen, before in grade school you were never far away from home, a block maybe two. You came home on your own two feet or on your bike. At fifteen you have friends that live on the other side of town and you need a ride in order to get home. Sometimes they don't always listen when you say that you need to be home by nine on weeknights and ten on Fridays and Saturdays. No one believes you that you need to be home that early, that you can't call and say you'll be home late. You still call, because otherwise your mom will worry too and then you'll get even more licks for worrying her.

Jason is sixteen before you are fifteen and he is even worse. If he is driving you home he will take his time. He will make you wait until everyone else is home before dropping you off, because he knows that it bothers you. If Chad's in the car he makes sure you get home first, but he isn't always in the car and that's when Jason is extra slow. You wouldn't say anything to make him go faster because that makes it even worse. You know that if he realized the consequences of being home late he would never torture you like this. You've never told anyone. You don't even know how to. He's your dad and he's just expects star quality from you. He only licks you when you break the rules. You always know how many are coming. It's not abuse. It's just discipline. If you really didn't want to break the rules you'd find different friends. You're willing to take licks in order to keep them.

You're late again tonight. Chad's in the car but the waiter at the restaurant brought out the check thirty minutes late. So you had to catch a later movie and now you're forty minutes late, forty one. Your fingers are curled into your pant legs. You've never had forty licks before. You don't even know how their will be enough area on your body for forty two licks. It's all you can think about. Zeke is singing in the front seat, and Chad is eating the rest of the popcorn. He sits at your side and has offered you popcorn every few minutes since getting into the car. He knows you're terrified, he may even know why. He's just trying to help you. The dread of knowing what's waiting for you at home may be worse than actually being licked, maybe. You've never been licked forty seven times before.

"Troy, Troy!" Chad shouts until he gets your attention. "We're here."

"You have five seconds." Jason lets his foot off the break, the car rolling forward not even a one mile per hour, but it still causes your stomach to lurch. You throw the door open and it would have hit the driver's door if it was capable. You barely remember to slam the door shut as you sprint into the house.

"53 minutes Troy." He's sitting in the den. He calls it his office, but he works at school. He doesn't use the room for anything but licking you.

You turn slowly to the den. He's never licked you for stalling, but the longer it takes the longer he drags out the punishment. You don't want this to take longer than it has to. "I called."

"And your mother didn't worry. She's upstairs in bed, but you know curfew is ten. It's that time for a reason. Remember?" He stands from the chair moving around you to shut the door. That means he's going to use his belt. He leaves it open if he makes you go outside and get a switch.

You feel his hands on your shoulders then you answer, "After 10 pm nearly 60 percent of the people on the road are drunk and violent crimes reach their peak at eleven. You don't want anything to happen to me."

He nods, you can't see it but you can feel the wisps of your hair move with it. "I'm helping your friends too Troy. They go home when you do. They're not going to get in an accident or being murdered because they're at home safe."

You look up at your Dad. The stubble on his chin is rough, and visible even in the light from the street. "Why don't you hit them?"

"I love you not them." He places your hands on the desk. You're arms shake a little and he rubs them in a soothing manor, like he used to when you were a kid. "A lot this time," He says because he knows that's why you're afraid.

"I'm sorry." It's a whisper. So quiet but he hears you.

"I'm not." He continues to rub your arms. "Being able to discipline you, it means you're safe this time. Next time I might not be so lucky."

Your eyes fill with tears. You know he's a monster but you can't be angry when he means things like that. He shushed you and kisses the back of your head. Then he steps away. You hear the sound of his belt as he takes it off the whisper it makes against his pants. He's usually dress for bed at this time, but he's waited up for you.

He sets the belt down on the desk next to you. It's a temptation but you never take it. You feel his hands rub against your sides as he pushes your shirt up bringing the hem around your shoulders. Then he unfastens your belt, and your jeans are at your ankles before you remember to breath. Its best by this time to start concentrated on breathing, like a yoga expert you know that the body can endure more if relaxed; breathing is the best way to do this. You take deep breaths in, the longer the better, hold them and then release slow and even between your lips. You close your eyes because it's too dark and nothing you can see is really a distraction. Even your thoughts aren't a distraction, because your only focus is your breath and the number of licks. He counts them but you always do silently, just in case, but he never goes over. Instead, when you close your eyes you get a visual of colors. Like reds and oranges and yellows when the pain is fresh and stringing, and then there are blues and purples as they fade, never black though. He never lets that happen. He's even stopped before because he realized how close you were. He's always careful. He wants discipline he doesn't want to put you in danger.

Then your boxers go. They're at your knees. You shiver, you're legs trembling and he rubs your lower back. You know you've broken the rules, and you've apologized. He knows that. He still has to discipline you, but he's sympathetic because he's already forgiven you. When you relax they come, three or four at a time, then you're tense and shivering again and he's stopped. He rubs your sides or your stomach, it's dark and he doesn't want to rub a cut or welt. You cry, but he doesn't care if you cry. Sometimes like tonight he even encourages it. "You can't learn your lesson if you don't feel pain." Far less than being dead he reminds.

It's a slow process because he can only get a few licks in before you are tense again, and as the number progresses you take longer to relax, but you are even quicker to tense. He doesn't take pleasure in your pain. You know this because when it's over he sits in his chair, an elbow on the arm rest his chin in his hand. His hands are shaking you can see it in the belt of the other hand and the fingers of that one. He watches you as you pull your shirt down, that doesn't hurt he doesn't lick your back, never not even on accident. Then you pull on your boxers with a loud gasp. You leave your pants on the floor. You already know they're too tight and it would be too painful to even attempt to put them on. You fold them even though you hiss when you have to reach down to pick them up.

He holds out a hand to you when you set them on the desk. You don't hesitate to take it. He's still your dad. He pulls you into his arms and wipes your cheeks and your eyes. You're surprised that his hands are still shaking, but he's never licked you this much. He won't apologize. He never will because he wasn't hurting you. He was protecting you.

"I don't like doing that Troy." He rubs your back and lets you straddle his legs in a way that puts all the pressure on your mid thighs as any pressure on your upper thighs and butt causes tears to slide down your cheeks.

"Don't." You rest in his arms even though you realized that you'll never find the comfort from them that you need.

"That's not a choice," he says softly. He's told you before, but you always hope just a little that he'll stop.

"I won't do it again," You promise even though one day probably sooner than you like it will happen again, but you never mean for it to happen and he knows that.

He kisses your cheek and then pats your back. You climb off of him and lead the way up the stairs. You separate in the hall going into your room. It's passed 12:57 and you have to sleep, it makes it better in the morning if you do. It's difficult. You can never sleep well on your stomach but laying any other way is not an option.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: What Doesn't Hurt

Author: Mrpointyhorns aka Blemery

Status: WIP

Part: 2/7

Pairings: Troy/Ryan (hopefully)

Warnings: Child Abuse, Slash, Second Person

Spoilers: None.

Summary: Jack has strict rules in his house and Troy gets punished if he disobeys.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Disney. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Healing Practices.

This game ended 75-70, a Wildcat win. You celebrate in the locker room with your friends.

Chad slaps you in the back with his wet towel. "Oh you're dead." You chase after him. He is faster than you, always, but he keeps only a few steps ahead of you. He likes to pretend that you'll get him.

"You better stop, Bolton. Your towels almost around your ankles." He laughs leaning against the wall a few feet away. The rest of the team is goofing around too, some of them are watching.

You pull your towel tighter. "You like it."

"Gross, are you crazy?" He pats your shoulder as he walks by you on his way to his locker.

"Hey, no. It's just a joke." You follow after him. Your locker is next to his. You pull on your undershirt and spray on Axe. Then you find your boxers. They remind you of what is to come. You look towards the office. He's at his desk. His chin is in his hands. He's looking at you. He smiles when he notices that you're looking at him. You turn away and put on your boxers, jeans, a collared shirt and your lettered jacket. You dress slower than you think because Chad is watching you when you turn around. "What?"

"Nothing. Are you coming out with us tonight?" Chad asks.

"It's nine." It's okay that you're late tonight. He's there to take you home. He can protect you from the murders. If he gets in an accident it's his fault. He never punishes you for that.

You will be punished though. It's worse than the other rules. There is nothing you can do about it. The rule is: for every point missed in a game it's one minute of sitting in a tub of ice water. He says it's a healing technique. That's why it's okay. It's only meant to heal you from your mistakes in the game. You missed 14 points tonight. Several could have been avoided. One time you could have passed the ball to Zeke but then your team would have hated you. Zeke was covered, but his miss doesn't cause you any suffering. Another time you would have passed to Chad but he wasn't close enough to the basket and he would've passed it back to you anyway. You had to go for the shots. There was no way out of it. You could've sat their dribbling until the ball was stolen from you but that only helps yourself. You've always been a team player so there's never a question.

"Okay. See ya tomorrow." Chad pats your shoulder and walks away. He turns to 'shoot' you with his fingers. The gesture is more for his benefit than yours. You smile weakly.

"Are you ready to go, Troy?" He asks you. He has his bag over his shoulder. He stands just outside of the office. You nod.

He leads the way to his car. He talks about the game and what it means to the rest of the season. You can't think about anything other than the bath that's waiting at home.

Your mom has dinner, spaghetti and meatballs, waiting for you when you get home. "How was your game?" She asks as she rubs your bangs out of your eyes. "You need to cut this."

"I like it long, everyone has their hair long." She clucks her tongue but drops the subject. "We won."

"Yeah?" She sits in the chair next to you. "How did you do?"

"I did okay. I missed 14 points." You take a bite wiping sauce from your chin.

"You're so pessimistic Troy." She rubs your arm. You stare at her. She has to know. He's been making you take ice baths since you got on the middle school team in the sixth grade. She smiles at you. "You should think more of yourself."

"Mom…"

"Troy." He's at the kitchen door. "The bath's ready for you."

"Oh Jack. He's fifteen. He doesn't need you making a bath for him." She stands and walks over to him. She slaps his shoulder like it's a joke.

"They're part of his training. Plus he needs to get to bed. He has school in the morning." He puts his hands on his hips. He'll wait until you're finished, but you wouldn't stall. He hates that.

"You boys and your training," She says with a laugh. "Are you done, baby?"

"Yeah Mom." She takes your bowl and glass. You kiss her goodnight.

You follow him into the bathroom. He lets you keep your boxers on, makes you get in and then he sets the timer. He leaves the door open and goes into his room. It's across the hall. You can't get out. You tried that before. He saw the wet mat and made you stay in there for twice as long.

It's cold. You close your eyes and try to think of warm things. Blond hair and pouting lips, you think about them only in the tub.

Ryan's gone to your school since the third grade. You're not friends with him, never have been. In fact you used to make him cry. On purpose, you liked that. His eyes always shimmered whenever you looked at them. They were crystal, and then they would break. Everyone laughed at him. You called him baby forever and worse when he got older.

What would Ryan think if he knew that you used your thoughts of him to help you get through the worse torture?

The thoughts you have of Ryan, they're not always innocence. You're not allowed to have thoughts like that. Those come with their own punishment. In the tub the thoughts result in nothing. They're your thought alone and with no evidence of their nature he is unaware. They are thoughts so special to you that you have found a way to have them even in his house.

Cold burns. It burns first and then it starts to numb, like a blister. Only it doesn't have the lasing effect of a blister. The burning always draws you away from your thoughts. You miss them. You image this is how they torture war prisoners. They play loud music to them day and night so that they can't sleep. Maybe this is more like the single drop of water that drops onto a prisoner's forehead, over and over, in-time. It just drops and keeps dropping and nothing will stop it. The water doesn't hurt. It doesn't string but both tortures keep prisoners from peace, from their own thoughts. The water, the music they consume them. Just like the cold it consumes you. You can't have thoughts of your own. The cold takes over and it's all that's left.

He comes into the bathroom, ready for bed. There is only a bit left on the timer. He puts the shower on warm, not hot. He doesn't make you sit in the shower for any length of time but the contrast of heat after the cold is supposed to help heal the muscles.

"You did a good job in the game today." He speaks to you, leaning against the sink.

You glare at him. You don't speak. You're teeth will chatter and you're afraid one will chip. He never listens anyway. It's not punishment. It's a healing technique. When the time goes off you step out of the tub. You're careful, your feet are numb and you don't want to fall.

He drains the bath and you stand ready to speak, to beg that you wouldn't have go through that again. "Be in bed in ten minutes." He leaves the room and shuts the door behind him.

In the shower you think about Ryan, it shows. The thoughts are yours and if he walks in you don't know if you'd care.


	3. Chapter 3

Title: What Doesn't Hurt

Author: Mrpointyhorns aka Blemery

Status: WIP

Part: 3/7

Pairings: Troy/Ryan (It is!)

Warnings: Child Abuse, Slash, First Person (POV change!)

Spoilers: None.

Summary: Jack has strict rules in his house and Troy gets punished if he disobeys.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Disney. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The songs "Wake Up" is owned by The Arcade Fire and Merge Records. "Odd One" Sick Puppies (P) (C) 2010 Virgin Records America, Inc.. All rights reserved. Unauthorized reproduction is a violation of applicable laws. Manufactured by Virgin Records America, Inc., Capitol Records, LLC, 150 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10011.

I was probably in love with Ryan for my entire life, but I couldn't admit it until the day I heard him sing. It wasn't the first time he sang in front of me. We had been in music together in elementary and he sang the banner at our basketball games. It was however, the first time I _heard_ him sing. It happened on a Thursday. It was raining. I left my friends in the cafeteria because of the licks on my back. They made me feel queasy. I couldn't even smell the food without having to excuse myself.

I was outside sitting in the football stands. None of my friends would look for me there. I was staring at the cut through from the field to the development of homes behind the school. It would be so easy to take a half day and walk away. I couldn't do it though. Dad would be furious. Escape was so close.

The singing floated up from under the bleachers, and I didn't realize that I was listening for a few moments. When I did I heard: "The people and things that went before. I know I'll often stop and think about them. In my life I've love you more. In my life I love you more." I leaned over trying to spy on who was singing. I probably knew it was Ryan before I saw a bright yellow hat, jacket and pant combo. There was no one else around and I didn't think he saw me on the bleachers above him. The candid approach to his singing was when I first heard it. It was in that moment that I knew I was in love with him.

The song was over, but I wasn't aware of it until a few moments of silence. I could weep thinking that Ryan was finished. He would walk away unaware of my feelings for him. Then, he started to sing softly as before. "Something filled my heart up with nothing." He began walking away; down the bleachers towards the far end of the field towards the path that led to escape.

"No," I whispered. "No!"

Ryan stopped. He looked up at the bleachers. I jumped from where I sat and ran quickly down the stands to the stairs and then followed those down under the bleachers. Ryan had started walking again. He was already beyond the bleachers but not too far. "Ryan!" I called running after him.

"What do you want?" Ryan turned to face me. His eyes were on fire and his fist tight at his sides. The rain fell all around us. His face was wet. It struck me hard. It's like he was crying. He wasn't but I knew I never wanted him too.

"Where are you going?"

Ryan stared at me, his eyes and face hard. It hurt to see him like that. "Away. I don't want to spend the next hour swatting paper wads and being called faggot."

I stared at him, unsure of what he meant. Ryan waited for me. "Oh." He meant me. Well my friends and me, that's what we did. "That's nothing."

"Nothing?" Ryan rolled his eyes and turned away.

"Wait!"

"What is it, Troy?" Ryan turned back towards me again. I smiled. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing. I just meant, well we don't mean anything by it." I stalled. I was trying to think of anything that would keep him from leaving.

"Yeah, but do you think I like that? Do you think it doesn't bother me to hear that every day?" Ryan waited again. He has this impatient, knowing put-out look when he's waiting.

"I'm sorry." That wasn't correct. Ryan frowned. "Don't you believe me?"

"Why should I believe you? You're acting confusing. I don't even know how you feel!" He was yelling. It hurt.

"I love you. Ryan, I love you. Do you believe me? I love you." I repeated the words over and over. "Please, please I love you."

He stopped being angry after a while. He stared at me his mouth wide open. "What do you want me to say?" He eventually asked.

"Do you believe me?" I asked. It was what I wanted most. I knew he couldn't love me. If he believed me however, then I had a chance.

"Yeah," Ryan agreed.

I nearly stumbled with the rush of joy that poured through me. My stomach did a flip and I leaned forward. He put his hand on my chest and pushed me back. "Ryan."

"That doesn't change anything!" Ryan's words were harsh. I fell to my knees. All the joy had rushed out of me and there was nothing left. I just deflated. "You think a ten minute conversation will erase ten years of torture."

"It wasn't…"

"It was torture! You tormented me. You alone. Not you and your friends. YOU! They wouldn't even notice me if it wasn't for you! You can't erase that. Not in ten minutes." Ryan didn't sound angry any longer. The emotion I heard was anguish. It ripped my beating heart from my chest. I knew pain, I lived with pain for my whole life, but Ryan's hurt was nothing compared to my own. Maybe I was a monster just like _him_.

Tears. I was crying. I could tell. The cold rain made my face ice cold and made my tears blazing hot. Ryan stared at me. I could tell that too even though I was looking at the crack in the sidewalk. Finally, Ryan let out a deep sigh. I felt his hand on my shoulders he pulled me to my feet. "Let's…go to class."

I nodded wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. I didn't know what happened, but Ryan wasn't walking away so maybe my feelings didn't change anything right away. Maybe, however, something would change in the future. Ryan brought us to class, the room was empty, it was still lunch, but just barely. The alarm rang before we put our stuff down. I usually sat near the back with my friends. Ryan usually sat near the window far enough away to try to avoid us but close enough that he didn't show his fear. He stood firm in the front of the class. He looked at me after the bell stopped ringing. "What does this change?"

I smiled feeling brighter. Ryan was considering it. He was thinking about me, or maybe he was thinking about him. How he wouldn't have to be agonized by me ever again. This time I led Ryan down my normal row and sat him in the seat right in front of me. I wanted to keep my eyes on him the whole class. He seemed tense, he didn't trust me of course and now he had to sit with his back towards me. At least by the window he could see me in his peripheral vision.

"Will you sing?" I asked softly.

He looked at me, stared really. He licked his lips and I leaned forward once again. "Something filled up, my heart, with nothing. Someone told me not to cry." The door opened and people started coming in to the classroom. They sat down in their usually spots. Ryan stopped singing at first, but I grabbed him by the arm before he could turn away. He sang quieter the other people probably heard but I didn't care. "Now that I'm older, my hearts colder, and I can see that it's a lie." That's as far as he could get. Chad, Jason and Zeke came in the room. They were all in the class. Ryan pulled away but he didn't move from his seat. He kept his head down.

Chad sat down next to me, Jason and Zeke sat down on the other side of him. Chad never missed anything. He looked right at Ryan. When Becky Sanders stopped at the desk, the one in front of me, the one she normally sat in, Chad sat up straight. "Becky." She turned and looked at Chad. "You don't want to sit there."

"Why?" Becky asked.

I looked over at Chad curious as well. What did he mean by that? Why wouldn't she want to sit there?

"It'll probably turn you queer," Jason said. I couldn't see him around Chad so I couldn't see his expression, but I could see Ryan in front of me and he looked away, out the window. He had tried to escape this. But I had stopped him. I was his monster.

"Hey! What was that for?" Jason yelled. I turned away from Ryan. I had not seen what happened but Jason had stood up and was rubbing his nose.

"A pencil," Chad said dryly. He pushed out his bottom lip and mockingly continued, "Are you going to cry?"

Jason grabbed his book and bag and stomped over to the other side of the room by the door. He was pissed. He hated to be teased. He teased people so often though we all did. We all should be able to handle teasing. I could handle Chad's teasing but I wondered if I could handle the teasing Ryan endured.

Chad looked at Becky. "Sit beside me?" He smiled at her. She smiled and went to take Jason's seat. Chad smiled at me. I looked at him until he turned to talk to Becky. I looked away. Ryan sat in front of me. He looked at Chad. I thought he looked about as shocked at I felt. He looked at me. I leaned forward again. He turned to the front of the room. This wouldn't be easy.

"Someone told me not to cry," I said it softly. Just to see how the words would feel. I didn't sing, not even in the car to the songs on the radio. That was a rule too. It hadn't always been a rule. It was after my fifth birthday. He said he couldn't let me sing like that anymore. He didn't want me to get hurt. He said people would hurt me if they heard me sing. I didn't understand why, but I was punished once for singing, and I haven't done it since. I could help that punishment; it wasn't like being late or scoring points. Not singing, that was easy. Well, sort of easy. I thought singing was beautiful and I loved singing. But the rule was if I sang I had to drink boiled canola oil. After the first time I never wanted to sing again. Not only did it burn going down but my mouth and throat were full of blisters! Sometimes the blisters would burst and I would vomit from the blister juices and that just cause more burns and more blisters. I didn't get better for nearly a month. Ryan sang so beautifully though. I just couldn't get it out of my mind. I wanted to sing with him. I wanted our voices to be entwined just like I wanted our tongues, our legs. Our hearts.

I kept my eyes on Ryan for the entire class. Our teacher noticed, I thought he did, but he didn't call on me. Teachers didn't call on athletic kids. If he tried to call on me I won't notice he would have to give me detention or if he didn't he would show the rest of the class that I had special privileges. Both outcomes usually resulted in bad news for the teacher. It was better to ignore the athletic kids. When the bell rang, I stood up, but I didn't move. I waited for Ryan. He moved slow, extra slow on purpose. I stared at him.

"Troy, Troy," Chad called me over and over again. "Troy!"

"What?" I asked looking at him. Zeke stood behind him. Jason wasn't around, probably still angry.

Chad laughed at me. "Let's go Troy."

I narrowed my eyes and shook my head. "Go without me."

"Trooooy." Chad was annoyed. He looked beside me. I looked too. Ryan was still at his desk but he stood his backpack over one shoulder. "Come on," Chad said. I looked at him but Chad was still looking at Ryan. I looked at Zeke. It looked like Zeke didn't care what was going on. Probably because Zeke knew no one would tell him what was going on. He just accepted it for what it was at face value. Eventually someone might tell him what happened but if they didn't he won't be bothered by it. I never appreciated that quality in him until that day. Chad always knew what was going on. He noticed everything. He saw everything. Chad took care of me. Chad made sure I got home first. Chad held my back in a fight. That's why Chad was my best friend or maybe it was the other way around. I would do the same for Chad, but Chad didn't need the things that I needed.

"I have Chemistry." Ryan was beautiful. That's all there was to it. He seemed unbalanced and confused but he stood in front of me. He told me that he was leaving, but he was going to class, a different class. He hadn't made up his mind yet and that made him beautiful. "I'll see you in gym."

"Gym?" Gym. I liked the class. I was good in the class. But Ryan…no one let him be good in that class and then there were the locker rooms. He nodded curtly and turned around. He walked out of the room. Just for a second I thought he looked back at me but then I'm not really sure about that. He might have just been checking to make sure he hadn't left anything behind.

I didn't hear if Chad called my name but I felt when he dragged me by the arm out of the room. Zeke followed behind us. He was smiling. So maybe he knew something now, maybe he could figure out everything. I couldn't tell but he was still following us so I didn't care.

My next class was math. I didn't have the class with Chad or Zeke, but the two of them escorted me the entire way. Chad probably knew I wouldn't make it on my own. I pulled my act together after a while. The class was an hour long and eventually the buzz that I felt since Ryan gave me hope died down.

"Mr. Harris," I called as I raised my hand. I wasn't sure what we were doing. He was explaining it for a while now and I had no idea what he was saying. "Can you slow down?" I asked when he stopped talking to take my question.

There were murmurs around the classroom, students grateful that I spoke up. I wasn't the only one lost; I was just the only one that wasn't paying attention from the beginning. Mr. Harris nodded. "Quadratic formula is used to solve quadratic equations." He slowed down and began to show the steps of solving the quadratic equations then he did a few example problems calling on students to lead him to the next step. After that we did some formulas at our desks. The other students seemed grateful to me for the extra explanation. It was because I was on the basketball team; Mr. Harris didn't want me to get a bad grade in his class. If I did I wouldn't be able to play in any of the games until my grades went up. The other students, the faculty and the parents almost always blamed the teacher for something like that. The teacher didn't take the time to help the student. The teacher didn't notice the player struggling in class. It would be different if I wasn't on the basketball team. It made me think of Ryan. How much did he have to endure everyday just because of who he was? Would Mr. Harris ignore Ryan's question? Would he tell Ryan to come by after class? I'd been in school with Ryan since the beginning and not once did I get in trouble for torturing him. If I got too loud and disrupted the rest of the class, I would get in trouble for that. Why had no one stopped me? Why had no one cared about Ryan? It made my heart pound in my chest.

--

Ryan had gym the same period I did. He always changed in the last row at the last locker in the corner.

I found him there and set my stuff beside him. My locker was in the second aisle so he knew I had no reason to be there. "Why does no one care about you?"

"What?" Ryan looked up from where he was carefully changing. He looked at me. I just looked at him back. I wanted to know everything about Ryan and this question would come eventually. "Is that how you will change my mind?"

"You're no different than they are." I didn't want to deceive Ryan and trick him into changing his mind. So I left that question in the air. He snorted and turned away. "Will you sing?"

Ryan only stared at me for a moment before he took a deep breath. I thought he was going to sigh at first but then he started to sing. "Children wake up; hold your mistake up, before they turn the summer into dust. If children don't grow up, our bodies get bigger but our hearts get torn up. We're just a million little god's causin rain storms turnin' every good thing to rust." I could tell that it was the same song as before the rhythm of the song was the same and the way Ryan sang some of the words the pauses in the words all of them made it one song. Maybe the song answered my questions as well. Ryan had been hurt and tortured. No one was around to help him. He had to grow up fast and he had to make his heart hard or lose it. I didn't know what to say when he finished singing so I just covered my eyes so that he could finish dressing. When he finished he called my name. "Troy."

I dropped my hand to my side. "I love you."

Ryan turned red. He closed his locker and stood up. "You better get ready. I'll see you in the gym."

"Wait!" I grabbed his wrist. Ryan pulled his arm away. That hurt, but he didn't walk away. "Odd one you're never alone, I'm here and I will reflect you."

"I'll see you in the gym!" Ryan scrambled around the corner and out of the locker room.

I brought my hand to my lips. Was my singing that bad? I didn't think it was but it caused Ryan to run away. Dropping my hand I walked back to my locker. That's when I saw _him_. He was standing at the door to his office and he was staring right at me. His face was hard and bitter. I could see his hands shaking. If there weren't other kids in the room I don't know what would happen.

"I'll see you at home. 3:30." He walked back into his office and let the door slam shut.

I felt my stomach drop to my feet. I knew what was coming and I dreaded it. However, I didn't regret what happened. Ryan heard me sing and I think it was starting to open him up to me.

--

I didn't know how I was going to get through this. I had only experienced this punishment once, so I didn't have any techniques that I had learned to help me. I knew I didn't regret my actions. I couldn't tell if the punishment would keep me from singing for Ryan, with Ryan again. I think I would continue to sing if it made Ryan happy.

He was waiting for me in the kitchen. The cooking oil was already on the stove. It was already starting to smoke. I didn't know why he chose oil instead of water. I knew I would rather have water it wouldn't taste as bad going down. He motioned for me to stand next to him as he prepared the 1/8th measuring cup with the hot oil.

"Do you know what you did wrong?" He asks like some officers do when you get pulled over.

I refused to say; saying it, even though I knew, would be admitting that I did something wrong. I don't think I did anything wrong. Ryan sang. It was so beautiful. How could it be wrong? I shook my head. "No, sir."

"You aren't supposed to sing Troy. You're voice is too much like a girls. People will hear you sing and think that you're queer." He turned off the stove setting the pan aside he turned towards me and put a hand on my shoulder.

"Queer?" Was that the reason this entire time? Singing made me sound like I was interested in other guys. I was, but it wasn't because of the way I sang. Was it? This punishment meant nothing. I had confessed my love to Ryan and I wouldn't deny it ever again. If singing made me queer then I wouldn't stop. I didn't want to stop loving Ryan.

"Do you know what happens to faggots?" He pushed down on my shoulder forcing me to the ground. I knelt in front of him. "They go to hell. Before that they are beaten, raped and marginalized. I won't have a son like that. That can't play basketball. That can't defend their self."

"You don't want me to sing to protect me from people that hate gay people?" That didn't seem right. It wasn't like being late. This was about people who would hurt me on purpose. Shouldn't he worry about them and not me? Was being gay that disgusting?

He didn't say a word. He grabbed my jaw and held it firm. Until it ached with pain, I opened my mouth. He forced the cooking oil into my mouth. The first drop against my tongue blistered instantly. It slid down my throat like a slimy worm. It was hot and tears poured out of my eyes. I thought about what he said. People would hurt me because I am gay, but the only person who ever hurt me was him. Did that make what he said true? Or did it just give him an excuse to hurt me? I tried to pull away as the oil fill my mouth reaching every place. I felt my checks swell and the roof of my mouth scabbed. I felt my mouth close up on its self. I wondered what this did to my throat, to my stomach. He paused after a moment grabbed the back of my neck near the base of my head. "Hold still." I didn't notice that I had been trying to get away. All my energy was focused on trying not to feel the heat running through my mouth. I was crying and I couldn't see him or the measuring cup. My nose was dripping because of the tears and they helped cool my lips a little when they rolled over them but the salt made them ache even more.

"No, no." I tried to speak but the words won't come out of my throat. My lips moved and my tongue scrapped off the scabs off the rough of my mouth. I wanted to scream but any choke or whimper sent waves of pain through my entire body. I couldn't imagine what screaming would do. I tried to think about Ryan to escape from the pain. He never screamed when I tortured him. Sometimes he cried. I always thought it was special when he did. I made him do that, made him cry. I didn't want him to cry anymore.

He gripped my head harder and shook me by my hair. "Open your mouth, son." I didn't, at first, I didn't want anymore of that stuff in my mouth. It already washed down my throat but I still felt like I had a mouthful of liquid. It was sticky and warm but not as warm as the canola oil. He didn't stop the shaking and he smacked me in the back of the head repeatedly with his other hand. I didn't open my mouth until he hit me so hard that I saw stars. I gasped. The sticky liquid rolled over my bottom lip and I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. Blood. He poured more liquid in he hadn't even gone halfway the first time. My legs started to shake. I was kneeling but I thought I would fall over. My shoulders quavered with sobs and my spine shuddered with pain. I imagined a hole being burned into my throat. I'd be like the cancer survives with a hole in my throat. I didn't want one.

When it stopped when the liquid wasn't in my mouth but in my stomach or on my face, he shoved me to the floor. He kicked me in the ribs. He had never done that before. Punishment was supposed to help me, correct my behavior. I curled my knees into my stomach. I was still crying and I rubbed my neck. I wanted to soothe the pain any way I could.

I didn't see him walk away but I heard him when he left the room. I stayed on the floor for thirty minutes but then I had to get up. I had to clean myself off before Mom came home. I didn't know what kind of trouble I would be in if she found out but I didn't want to know.

--

I avoided Ryan at school the next day, however, not because of what he said or my punishment. I just didn't want someone that beautiful to see me like this. My mouth was swollen and I couldn't speak a word. Chad noticed but he didn't say anything. No one else would look at me, at least not when I saw them looking. Ryan found me after gym when I was walking away from the locker room.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" He yelled at me. It echoed in the halls because the school was mostly empty. I stayed in the locker room longer because I didn't want anyone to see the bruise on my stomach. I turned to face Ryan but I couldn't say anything as he approached. He was furious. I was crushed. I didn't want him to be mad at me anymore but what could I do. I couldn't explain anything if I wanted to. "I believed you! I trusted you Troy. You had me going you know. I really thought you were being honest. So you got me. Are you going to laugh now?"

That hurt. I was devastated. He thought I was playing a joke on him. But I hadn't been. I would never do something like that. He had believed me. I had my shot. Now because of my singing, because of _him_, I lost it. I shook my head violently and held out a hand.

Ryan frowned his brow creased it was endearing. I reached out and touched his center wrinkle. He grabbed my hand and leaned closer. So close. He lifted his other hand and touched my temple right above the swelling. He noticed. Just like Chad. He saw what happened. "Troy?" He stared more. "Open."

I didn't at first. I didn't know if I could trust anyone with this. Besides it hurt to open my mouth even a little. Breathing through my nose hurt but it wasn't like breathing through my mouth. But it was for Ryan. He needed answers and I couldn't give it to him otherwise. I opened my mouth; as much as I could, not very far less than a quarter of an inch. He released my hand, and he stopped touching my cheek. He had to brace them on my shoulders so he could stand on his toes to look inside my mouth. I never had anyone that close to me before. I wanted to kiss him, but I didn't dare. It would hurt, but it might also hurt him.

"Who did this?" He dropped back to his feet. He stepped back a little. I think he was afraid but I wasn't sure. "Tell me who it was."

It was a demand. I didn't speak all day. I didn't think I could speak then, but I tried a small gasp sounded as I pushed the air passed my vocal cords. "Oh no! Stop." Ryan held his hands up. "Don't speak. I wasn't thinking. Just…come here." He held his arms out, not very wide, but after being denied all day yesterday I was surprised by the gesture at all.

I looked at him for a second and I knew I believed what he was asking what he was telling me without telling me. I stepped into the embrace. I didn't realize how much I appreciated the comfort until my arms were wrapped around his shoulders and his hands rubbed against my back. I rested my ear against the top of his head. I couldn't let my cheeks touch it hurt too much but I didn't think this was bad either. I was bigger then he was taller, stronger and wider but he was comforting me. I sighed through my nose and closed my eyes. I didn't hear it, or see it. But it wasn't long until I felt my shirt turn wet and warm. I didn't realize. I didn't know. I couldn't know before that. He hurt because I did. Even though it wasn't the same, I felt a weight lift from me, giving me a chill for the first time since the smoking oil ran down my throat, for I knew that even though I was no longer alone. I had someone to share my pain.


End file.
